Pointy Eyes Shine In The Dark

by @f3nix

"Auntie Masha‘ n the God’s Mistakes / every day on FRINGE -FM! / We will lure them, interview them / fun and tortures never end! "

The radio anchor's words glide over the frantic notes of the jingle like an old rusted Cessna.

"We're still here! I know, my lobotomized listeners, you too are amazed that your beloved auntie is still broadcasting on the frequencies of... "

"Stop with the preambles, old wino!" The voices of the three God's Mistakes recall a misplaced cross between Smeagol and the Chipmunks. In the studio, plastered with purple sound-proofing cones, the three animated puppets stare at Masha with lusty and murderous eyes. In a quick flash, the radio host instinctively thinks about the many crossroads of her life.

"Let's all welcome the most annoying and useless voices in the whole history of radio broadcasting from Edison to nowadays. Don't interrupt me, at least not at the beginning of the program, damn puppets..."

"...Cursed the stoned producer who wanted you," the host adds a quick note in her mind.

"Hey granny, we are co-hosts, not voices.” The felt creatures stand assertively.

"As we said, my bizarre radio listeners, here we are at our usual appointment with Masha's spicey interviews. Today we have an exceptional guest who certainly does not need introductions: directly from Berlin, Kurt Kükenvernichter, the one who returned metal music to the wide public. You know, Kurt, that auntie won't allow you to exit this studio without you having confessed at least some sordid and succulent secret.” The presenter begins to press. "For starters, we want to know how you managed to convert post-millennials around the world to your music."

Meanwhile, it seems that Kurt has decided to ignore the presentation. The round sound of his flask's stopper popping is not even captured by the microphone that already the singer has gulped down a sip of grog, dark and thick like tar. He slowly approaches the loudspeaker and greets his fans - especially the female ones - with a bronze baritone voice.

"Anyway, I never converted anyone. In these shitty times, I saw an empty throne and sat there."

"Aha. Sure. On thrones, photos of you collapsed on a toilet have been leaked from the net in the last few days. It is said to have been an exclusive party in Miami. Not exactly an image in line with the Kurt we all know. Do you want to deny or give us some clarification?” If radio frequencies could take shape, listeners would now see a scythe.

"They are all ... I was saying ... hhhhh ... it's all a pathetic charade!" The shrill voice of a clown who sniffed early-morning helium extrudes from the singer's throat as from an occluded sphincter.

"What the fuck was that?" Auntie Masha leaps in shock from the chair. The God’s Mistake for once are silent, overwhelmed by a more absurd voice than theirs and looking at each other with lost pointy eyes.

Time is strange on radio and silence represents an abomination against nature. Five interminable seconds pass before the host manages to recover and decides to send the advertisement break. Kurt has already thrown himself out of the studio, making shrill desperate blows. In fading out, a coarse puppet's laugh resounds.

In the loft, the thick curtains are still those of the old printing works. The late rays of the sun filter through the large dirty windows together with the sounds of the offices being emptied. A man wrapped in black leather and studs is spread on a padded velvet chaise long while, at the end of the room, another figure sits composed giving him his back.

"You see, Doctor, my voice is everything, why did it start to betray me? I can't understand what's happening to me. I feel violated by a dark and perverse part of myself. Under this thick layer of metal, there is a sensitive heart and I don't think I can stand this anymore."

As he confesses, Kurt hears a little music coming from behind the back of the chair. It looks like something already heard.

"Doctor?"

"Isn't this riff I just invented beautiful?" Asks the therapist to the air with a gloating triumph note in his voice. Kurt pokes his head out and sees him fiddling with a tiny electric ukulele.

"Actually I think it's Smoke On The Water, Doc."

The chair snaps in a flash of lightning.
"Kurt, I have the solution but it won't be easy and requires your blind trust in me." Dr. Machete smiles as a strange light moves through his eyes. Struck by dusty beams of light, he looks like a sly Cheshire Cat.

In a spurt of lucidity Kurt stood up shaking himself, trying to wake up and notice. His confused mind scrabbling through the viciously disturbing thoughts about what happened; had to be wrenched back to reality. He looked at the doctor placing the electric ukulele carefully, thinking what had triggered him to be wary enough to stand up immediately and move away from the doctor. Cold sweat covered his brow as he desperately fought to stay in focus when a red glow attracted his attention. It was a joss- stick, Kurt became aware of it's faint sweet smell. Why was it so familiar?

Kurt remembered Auntie Masha- the recording room had the same odd smell. Fear was clawing up his spine as he edged away from Dr. Machete on unsteady legs. When the doctor picked up a puppet- very much like the ones with Auntie Masha- and waved it towards Kurt; he turned and ran out. Down the stairs and out of the building, he kept running till he reached the corner in a panic, not able to decide which way to go, when he saw an empty yellow cab slowing down. The possibility of getting away powering his steps towards the cab, Kurt yanked the door open and leapt in.

"Where to?" The sour faced driver growled. Kurt's thoughts were a jumble. "Holy Fu.." the words popped out of his mouth.
"Holy Family Hospital?"
"Uh. Huh."

And the cab was rolling, Kurt sprawled in the seat, emotions draining away with the Adrenalin. He closed his eyes tightly trying to calm down; he un-clenched his fists and took a deep breath which rattled out of him in a whistle. When he opened his eyes he saw the dingy light fixture above the door. It was shaped as a sock puppet and the button eyes seem to be goggling at him- very much like a God's Mistake. Bile arose to the back of his throat "STOP". He screamed and yanked the door open, barley missing the car running next to the taxi. The driver braked violently and Kurt was thrown out of the car when the car behind them banged into the rear of the taxi.

Kurt scrambled up and left, half running holding himself with both his arms; his breaths fast and shallow, his head bobbing up and down with every breath. Kurt kept walking till he was tired. When he looked up he was in the old city. He stumbled for a few minutes and reached the front of the "Rose Theatre". Kurt was not sure why he was here, he did not want to be here, in fact the dread was building again. Something was driving him mad. He closed his eyes again leaning against a light pole and unbidden the memories surfaced. He had frequented this place a lifetime ago; when he was a young wannabe. And he was with Lisa, the beautiful and ever-childlike girl. She had made him feel so happy. Till that awful night of the Puppet Show. What had she shouted. "It was my song. You had no right.... Why didn't you Ask Me?" And he had gone crazy, just flipped from human to .. inhuman. Even as tears of regret flooded his eyes the multicolored garish poster for that puppet show loomed hugely sinister in his mind. Was that a God's mistake?

The Contest: https://steemit.com/finishthestory/@bananafish/finish-the-story-contest-week-52

Photo credit: Pixabay.com